


Not Quite Flying High

by twisting_vine_x



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety breakdown, Bad trip (Stiles!POV), M/M, Marijuana, References to past canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles get stoned as a party. It does not go well. Thankfully, someone’s there to help him through it.</p><p>(A/N: Set vaguely post-S2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite Flying High

It hurts. Everything hurts. Every inch of him is burning. His mind is on fire. Scott – he needs Scott. This is not supposed to fucking happen – he needs Scott. Where is Scott?

“Scott? Jesus christ, Scott – help me.”

Gradually, the room swims back into sharp focus – he’s on a bathroom floor; god, why are the walls shaking? The walls shouldn’t be shaking – and the tile is cold. He presses his fingers against it. Clings to it. It’s real and cold. _Don’t close your eyes_. Makes his fingers scramble for his phone, gets Scott’s number dialed. People – _stay away from me_ – are banging at the door, and the music is too loud, and Scott, where is –

When there’s no answer, he ends up crawling across the floor. Curled up in the bathtub. Clings to the phone and – but his mind is hurting again. Everything is on fire – his skin is burning – and his mind is splintering, shattering apart. Too much happening all at once. There’s his dad, and his mom, and his dad’s crying, and there’s his mom’s coffin, and god, no, stop¸ he’s been stoned before, this has never happened, what the fuck is happening to him? Make it stop, make it stop, make it _stop_ –

“Don’t talk to yourself. That’s how you get crazy. Oh god – stop talking to yourself. Scott, where the fuck – help me, god, this isn’t supposed to be happening, and stop fucking talking, Stiles, _stop it._ ”

Everything goes too close after that – he presses his hands over his ears, but the walls are still shaking, and he thinks he’s crying, and maybe if he jumps out the window, it will all stop, but no, he can’t do that, Scott needs him, the pack needs him – _the pack doesn’t need you, you need the pack_ – and then the walls come in a little closer, and he gets a moment of lucidity, digs his nails into his arms, _you’re having a panic attack, Stiles, you’re stoned and you’re having a breakdown, this is not real, this is not real, this is not –_

“Fuck now you’re talking to yourself again _shut the fuck up –”_

The banging at the door gets louder, and he curls in on himself, can’t close his eyes but can’t keep them open. Everything hurts. Starts to go even more sharp at the edges, and now he knows he’s crying, and _jesus fuck_ now he must be hallucinating because what the fuck is Derek doing –

“Stiles.”

“Stop, stop, no, this isn’t – this isn’t supposed to happen, god, close the door, please, close the –”

Derek’s gone, and then the bathroom door is shut again, less noise, thank god, make everyone stay out –

“Stiles. What did you take?”

“Keep them away from me, please – god, you’re not real, make it _stop_ , christ, stop _talking_ , Stiles –”

“I’m real.”

“It _hurts,_ make it –”

“What did you take?”

“Weed. Never – this – never happened before. Scott, I need – get me Scott? Knows how to bring me down – Scott, I need –”

And then it all starts over again, and the room fades out, and his mind is pulling in on itself, and he curls in closer on himself – lashes out when he feels something touch him, hand on his shoulder, and then he’s clinging to it, fuck, _he’s hallucinating holding hands with Derek_ , and why does everything hurt so much?

“Make it _stop_ –”

And then the room is spinning, and he’s being moved around and everything hurts but then he’s pressed against something warm and solid that smells good, arms going loosely around him, and he should be trapped, but it’s – it helps, somehow, and he clings to whatever he’s pressed up against, god, _keep breathing, just keep breathing,_ it’s like a mantra, someone’s murmuring it –

“That’s it. Keep breathing. Deep as you can. Hold on to me.”

“Can’t breathe –”

“Yes, you _can._ In and out. Deep breaths. None of this is real.”

“Hurts –”

“A couple of hours, Stiles. You can do that. Just keep breathing for me.”

And that’s – it hits him, suddenly, that this is real. That he’s curled up in a tub having a pot-driven anxiety breakdown, with Derek wrapped tight around him, and he can’t help the new flood of tears, _so fucking pathetic,_ why is this happening to him, this has never happened before –

Everything goes hazy again, then, after that, nothing but Derek’s voice and the images on the edges of his vision, and he’s pretty sure his psyche is splintering, but then someone’s putting something in his mouth – _don’t take drugs from strangers, no, stop_ – but there’s a glass of water, and he gulps it down, needs to – and it’s Derek, Derek who’s here with him, right, and Derek’s not going to hurt him, right? Christ, just what he needed, for Derek to see him like this, and why are the walls _still_ fucking shaking? Make it stop, make it all stop –

“Keep breathing. You’ll be asleep soon.”

_“Derek –”_

But whatever he wants to say gets stuck, trapped on his tongue, digs in there and makes a home and it can’t get out of his mouth, and the arms around him pull a little tighter, and all Stiles can do is hold on, and time’s fading in and out, he doesn’t know how long he’s been there, but everything’s getting hazy again, shattering out of focus, and he’s got Derek there to watch him, clings on tight and just –

\- - -

When Stiles claws his way back to consciousness again, everything still hurts.

His mouth tastes like something’s curled up and died in it. His head is aching, and he needs water, and – and everything it real around him, suddenly, he’s come down, _thank christ_ , but that means he’s curled up in a tub with Derek, and he simply cannot make himself open his eyes. Clings to the feeling of Derek warm and solid against him, takes in the moment, cause fuck knows he’s never going to get this close again – and it also quite possible that he’s actually going to be sick from the humiliation. Bites down a whimper and just – tried to not exist for a while.

“I know you’re awake.”

And Stiles just – can’t even think of anything to say. Derek’s voice is a low rumble against him, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s gotten snot and drool and tears all over Derek’s jacket, and he just – doesn’t want to fucking live in a world where he’s had a breakdown and cried all over the big bad alpha. 

“Stiles. We need to move.”

He manages a nod – still can’t speak, apparently – and then Derek’s shifting underneath him, and Stiles – finds himself pushed up into a sitting position, the room spinning around him, but once it stops, he has no choice but to look at Derek. Who looks – the same as he always does. No more or no less pissed than normal. And Stiles has absolutely no fucking idea what to make of that.

“Can you walk?”

And there is – it’s not like Derek sounds all warm and cuddly, all of a sudden, but whatever it is, Stiles is horrified to feel his eyes start to burn again, _god no_ , and he rubs the back of his hand across them, manages to look at anything that isn’t Derek. Can’t believe how small his voice sounds when it finally make it out.

“You can go. I’m – I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, he’s being helped to his feet, Derek’s hands soft but solid on his arms, and, christ, this is almost worse than if Derek was angry. He’s way too fucking vulnerable for this shit right now. Everything inside him feels like it’s been rattled apart.

“You’re in no state to be alone.”

“Derek –”

“I’m assuming you’d rather not go out the front door.”

The words make no sense, until he raises his head again – meets Derek’s eyes – and watches as Derek cocks his head in the direction of the window. For a moment, Stiles just stares at him – can’t read a damn thing in his face – and then he’s swallowing, hard, and checking to make sure that he still has his phone. Doesn’t want to look at Derek anymore. Doesn’t understand why any of this is happening.

“I called Erica. She brought me a gravol. You’ve been out for about five hours.”

“I –”

“She won’t tell anyone.” 

And that – does make sense, actually, considering the seizures she used to have. More sense than the way they're still standing together in this bathtub, anyway – and then Derek's climbing out of the tub, and Stiles follows on legs that are still a bit shaky. God, he needs a glass of water. And then to go back to sleep for another twelve hours. And to wake up in a world where none of this has ever happened.

“Come on. We’re only on the third floor.”

The words sink in even as Derek’s already moving, and Stiles stares at him for a moment longer, because, hello, third floor, he can barely walk, let alone climb out a – oh.

“Wait. You –”

“Get on, Stiles.”

And that, right there, sounds about as surly as Derek normally gets, and oh, christ, he’s offering Stiles a piggy-back ride, as if this night couldn’t get any worse – but there’s still music and people and they’ve been in here for hours, and no way is he going to walk through that crowd. Swallows hard, crosses the room, and follows Derek through the window – somehow doesn’t manage to fall – and then he’s crawling up on Derek’s back, holding on tight, and closing his eyes as Derek pulls off some kind of jumping manoeuvre that he’d really rather not think about. He only opens them when they’re suddenly on the ground again, crouched in the alley with Stiles still clinging to Derek’s back, and Stiles just – needs to be in a bed somewhere. Preferably passed out. Where he can forget that any of this ever happened. Makes his legs hold when he slides off Derek’s back, and then Derek’s turning to stare at him in the dim light from the house windows, and Stiles very vehemently does not meet Derek’s gaze. Can’t remember the last time there was an awkward silence that he hadn’t been able to fill, but his brain just doesn’t seem to be back online yet.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t have –”

“I know.”

And then Derek’s turning to walk away, heading down the alley, and Stiles hesitates for a second longer before he follows, and does his best to not look at Derek as he slides into the passenger seat and closes his eyes. Everything still hurts, and he just – the night needs to be over. Keeps his eyes closed as Derek pulls out onto the road, and maybe Stiles can pretend to be asleep again, or something, though Derek’ll probably know otherwise from listening in on his heartbeat, or something, and Stiles still cannot believe he ended up bawling his eyes out while wrapped up in the alpha’s arms. That’s just – so many types of not okay, and Stiles doesn’t want –

“I used to get anxiety attacks. I – for years, afterwards.”

Derek grinds out the words like they hurt him, and it takes Stiles a second for him to make sense of it, and then – oh. Oh, christ. And now he’s picturing some homeless teenaged Derek, scared and alone, most of his family murdered, and when Stiles looks at Derek and sees that he’s glaring at the road like it’s personally insulted him, he knows not to push. Feels something inside him go a little bit less tense, because that is – easily the most personal thing Derek’s ever shared with him. And he’s doing it to make Stiles feel better, even as the expense of himself, and Stiles swallows hard around how much that must have cost Derek to say. Wants to reach over and put a hand on his arm, or something, but knows he’ll just end up losing it.

“That’s how you knew how to talk me down.”

“Laura used to do the same for me.”

Stiles inhales, sharply – thinks of the woman in that grave, thinks of the time he and Scott had dug her back up – and has to look away, for a moment. Can’t deal with the barely masked pain in Derek’s voice. Suddenly wants to wrap himself around Derek and protect him from everything, the same way Derek’s just protected him. Flounders for a moment until the silence has stretched long past its breaking point, to the point that he’s surprised Derek hasn’t broken the steering wheel with how hard he’s clutching at it, and then he – can’t fucking help it. Puts a hand on Derek’s elbow and hopes he’s not going to lose it. Makes the words happen even as he sees and feels Derek go ramrod stiff beside him.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, there’s nothing – and then Derek makes some vaguely affirming noise, still not looking at him, and Stiles takes his hand away and curls up in the seat again. He has no idea what, exactly, just happened, but he knows that it was something – that Derek just shared something major with him, and didn’t bite his hand off when Stiles responded – and when it’s all suddenly way too much to think about, Stiles just closes his eyes and just hopes he’ll be home soon.

\- - -

“Stiles.”

“Five more minutes.”

There’s a huff of something that sounds almost like amusement – which is impossible, because he’s awake now, and he’s with Derek, and Derek doesn’t laugh, but when he gets his eyes open, Derek somehow looks a little bit less pissed off than normal. Looks a little softened around the edges, and Stiles swallows, hard – tries to ignore how gross his mouth tastes – and then just proceeds to stare at Derek until Derek raises his eyebrows, and Stiles flushes so badly he can feel it straight down to his neck. Right. Get out of the car, get into the house, get into bed. Pass the fuck out.

“You going to be okay?”

He manages a nod, and then he’s unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out the door, making his legs hold him long enough to get him on the sidewalk. Watches Derek watch him through the window, for a second, and then he’s glancing at the house, and god, he hopes his dad’s working late. He doesn’t need to know anything about what’s happened tonight.

“Stiles.”

“Right! Yes. Going now. Going now, sorry –”

“I’ll check on you tomorrow. Call me if you need me.”

And at that, whatever bit of his brain he’d gotten back seems to stop, because all he can do is stare at Derek until Derek nods and pulls away from the curb again, leaving Stiles standing there alone and – yeah. His legs are definitely shaking beneath him. It’s more than time to get into a bed. He can deal with everything else tomorrow – christ, he doesn’t even know how Derek found him in the first place, and that’s – probably something he should look into. Should look into how Derek knew he was in trouble. Should try to figure out how he got away with putting a hand on Derek’s elbow and didn’t get it bitten off.

For now, though, Stiles really doesn’t want to be vertical anymore, and it’s enough that Derek doesn’t seem to hate him. Everything else can wait.


End file.
